Myrmidons.
Achil.
Look Hector, now the sun begins to set;
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels:
Ev'n with the veil and darkning of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
[They fall upon Hector and kill him.
-- 118 --
Hect.
I am unarm'd, forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil.
Strike, fellows, strike, this is the man I seek.
So, Ilion, fall thou next. Now, Troy, sink down:
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews and thy bone.
On Myrmidons, and cry you all amain,
Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.
[Exeunt.
Hark, a retreat upon our Grecian part.
Myr.
The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord.
Achil.
The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the earth;
And, stickler-like, the armies separate;* note
Come, tye his body to my horse's tail:
Along the field I will the Trojan trail.
[Exeunt.
[Sound retreat. Shout.
Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, Diomede, and the rest, marching.
Aga.
Hark, hark, what shout is that?
Nest.
Peace, drums.
Sol.
Achilles! Achilles! Hector's slain! Achilles!
Dio.
The bruit is, Hector's slain, and by Achilles.
Ajax.
If it is so, yet bragless let it be:
Great Hector was as good a man as he.
Aga.
March patiently along; let one be sent
To pray Achilles see us at our tent.
If in his death the gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.
[Exeunt.
SNENE XV.
Enter Æneas, Paris, Antenor and Deiphobus.
Æne.
Stand ho, yet are we masters of the field,
Never go home, here starve we out the night.
-- 119 --
Enter Troilus.
Troi.
Hector is slain.
All.
Hector!—the gods forbid!
Troi.
He's dead, and at the murtherer's horse's tail
In beastly sort dragg'd through the shameful field.
Frown on, you heav'ns, effect your rage with speed;
Sit gods upon your thrones, and smile at Troy.
I say at once, let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on.
Æne.
My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
Troi.
You understand me not, that tell me so:
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death,
But dare all imminence, that gods and men
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone!
Who shall tell Priam so? or Hecuba?
Let him that will a scrietch-owl ay be call'd,
Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
That is a word will Priam turn to stone;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives;
Cold statues of the youth; and in a word,
Scare Troy out of it self. But march away,
Hector is dead: there is no more to say.
Stay yet, you vile abominable tents,
Thus proudly pight upon our Phrygian plains:
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
I'll through and through you. And thou, great-siz'd coward!
No space of earth shall sunder our two hates,
I'll haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth goblins swift as frensy's thoughts.
Strike a free march to Troy! with comfort go:
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
Enter Pandarus.
Pan.
But hear you, hear you?
-- 120 --
Troi.
Hence, brothel, lacky; ignominy, shame
[Strikes him.
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name.
[Exeunt.
Pan.
A goodly med'cine for mine aking bones! Oh world!
world! world! thus is the poor agent despis'd: Oh, traitors and
bawds, how earnestly are you set at work, and how ill requited? why
should our endeavour be so lov'd, and the performance so loath'd?
what verse for it? what instance for it?—let me see—
Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing,
'Till he hath lost his honey and his sting;
But being once subdu'd in armed tail,
Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail.
Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted cloths—
As many as be here of Pandar's hall,
Your eyes half out, weep out at Pandar's fall;
Or if you cannot weep, yet give some groans,
Though not for me, yet for your aking bones.
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,
Some two months hence my will shall here be made:
It should be now; but that my fear is this,
† noteSome galled goose of Winchester would hiss;
'Till then, I'll sweat, and seek about for eases,
And at that time bequeath you my diseases.
[Exit.
